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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29560389">Gotta be true, yeah it's gotta be you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea'>Neyiea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>You're still my favourite taboo [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gotham (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Harley!Bruce, M/M, POV Alternating, spotted hyenas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:34:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,270</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29560389</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce obtains a few new companions.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>You're still my favourite taboo [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>104</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/luanhati/gifts">luanhati</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Can't make a Harley!Bruce without giving him some precious little cubs to look after and cuddle.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I have to go out for a bit to pick something up,” Bruce says apropos of nothing. “I’m bringing it to Wayne Manor with me and spending the night there, since there’s just not enough space here.”</p>
<p>Jerome’s head swivels around. Bruce is dressed up in the standard, bland black getup that he always wears whenever he’s out and about as Bruce Wayne, he even has black leather gloves on to hide the red nail polish that Jerome had painted onto him last night before they went out and caused enough chaos to land them on the front page of the Gotham Gazette again. He looks so sullen and serious, so much like his former self, and it makes Jerome’s fingers twitch with an urge to do something about it.  </p>
<p>“And where exactly are you picking this ‘something’ up from?”</p>
<p>Bruce opens his mouth to answer verbally and then snaps it shut, seeming to perk up. Jerome, already knowing what’s about to come, narrows his eyes in concentration.</p>
<p>A Harlequin was a mute character in a traditional pantomime, and Bruce had decided to play the part to the best of his ability. It helped that him never speaking when he was The Harlequin would only keep his true identity under wraps for even longer, as his androgynous appearance when he was out with Jerome seemed to have the people of Gotham scratching their heads in unending confusion over: girl? Boy? Neither? Bruce was a quick study and was already able to sign simple sentences, but he liked to keep Jerome on his toes, just in case the need for totally silent communication ever came up, and every once in a while he would give one-word answers by spelling it out with the alphabet.  </p>
<p>Bruce lifts a hand with a smile. First there is one finger, the index, pointed upward. D. Second there is the fingers curled and meeting with the thumb. O. Then the hand forms the simple shape of a C. Then comes a sign that Jerome can’t quite recall, like a peace-sign, except the thumb slips between index and middle fingers. Then comes the closed fist that signalizes an S. Even without remembering the second to last sign, recalling all the others makes reading the location a breeze. </p>
<p>The docks.  </p>
<p>“You’re going to a sketchy pick up location when it’s already starting to get dark. Without me.” Jerome almost can’t believe it. “Is it because of drugs? You’d tell me if it was drugs, right?”</p>
<p>“It’s not drugs. I just can’t risk you scaring my source off if you come with me and they catch sight of you.”</p>
<p>“What source? Source for what?” </p>
<p>Bruce comes close and lifts up onto his toes to press a quick kiss to Jerome’s cheek.</p>
<p>“You’ll find out when you drop by Wayne Manor to see me tonight.”</p>
<p>“Maybe I have diabolical plans that I want to go over with the lackeys tonight. Maybe I won’t be able to make it.”</p>
<p>Bruce pets at Jerome’s hair, exaggeratedly mollifying. </p>
<p>“I’ll leave the side-door unlocked just for you,” he says, evidentially not taking any of Jerome’s half-hearted grumbling into consideration. Which was fair, considering that even if Jerome had plans he’d just drop them to go and see Bruce. He hated the thought of Bruce being all alone in the big, empty house that he’d grown up in. “I’ll see you later, bye.” He leans up to press a lingering kiss to Jerome’s mouth and then quickly darts away with a hurried parting message of, “Love you.”</p>
<p>Jerome freezes; even the gears of his ever-moving mind grind to a halt.</p>
<p>Love you.</p>
<p>
  <i>Love you.</i>
</p>
<p>Bruce is already out the door by the time sense returns to him again, and Jerome dashes towards it like Jim Gordon has finally gotten close enough to breathe down his neck.</p>
<p>“Bruce,” he calls loudly from the doorway, heart racing in his chest. Bruce swings around to look at him, cheeks already pink. “Love you, too!”</p>
<p>Bruce smiles so wide that Jerome feels a bit weak in the knees, and he slips into his car after a final wave of goodbye.  </p>
<p>The next hour passes with Jerome opening up his phone to stare at his messages and suppressing the urge to send ‘Are you home yet? Can I come over?’ every fifteen minutes. At just over the one-hour mark Bruce is the one to text him a simple ‘Picked everything up. Heading home now.’ </p>
<p>Jerome takes that as a sign to finally head over himself.</p>
<p>The side-door is unlocked, just like Bruce had said it would be, and Jerome slips inside and wanders in the eerie, silent darkness of Wayne Manor for a few minutes before he sees traces of light down the end of one hallway. He makes his way towards the light, and as the shadows begin to recede he finally hears Bruce.</p>
<p>Talking in a strangely high-pitched voice, the kind of tone that some people adopted when they spoke to babies. </p>
<p>Jerome, somewhat bewildered, picks up the pace. He nearly trips over a <i>baby-gate</i> when he enters the mostly-empty room that Bruce is in, seated on the floor with his back to Jerome. The commotion causes Bruce to turn around, and cradled in his arms is—</p>
<p>—some kind of dog?</p>
<p>“You went to some sketchy pick up location at night to pick up puppies?” There are a couple more behind him, Jerome sees, laid out beside each other on a folded blanket on the floor. “You couldn’t just go to a pet-store during the day or something?”</p>
<p>“They’re not puppies, they’re cubs,” Bruce says, gazing down at the one in his arms tenderly. “Spotted hyena cubs.” It tiredly nuzzles closer to Bruce’s chest and Bruce makes a soft, adoring noise low in his throat. “Jerome.” Bruce’s voice has a high, wavering quality. When he looks back up at Jerome his eyes are wide and pleading. “They’re so sweet, and so little, and they <i>need</i> me.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t gonna tell you to send ‘em back or anything. You can buy whatever you want with your piles of money, so don’t look at me with those puppy-dog-eyes.” Jerome steps a little closer, eyeing the small animals cautiously. “They’re tuckered right out, huh?”</p>
<p>“They had a big day today.” Bruce ducks down to gently plant his face into brownish-black fur. “Didn’t you, sweet little baby?” One of the cubs on the floor rouses, nudging slightly against Bruce’s thigh, and Bruce reaches out with one hand to scratch it behind the ears. “They’ll be more energetic tomorrow. Hence keeping them here. They need room to run around where they won’t be tripping over discarded knives and explosives.” Bruce looks up at Jerome again. “Come on, Jerome, sit down. Do you want to pet them?” </p>
<p>Jerome sits, but keeps his hands to himself.</p>
<p>“I’m not used to dogs.”</p>
<p>The only kind of animals he’d ever had consistent, positive exposure to were snakes. </p>
<p>“Neither am I. Even if I were, it’s not like these are regular dogs. In fact, they’re not dogs at all.” Bruce nudges against him, grinning. “These are from the hyaenidea family, and they’re technically <i>illegal</i> to own.”</p>
<p>“I do like the sound of illegal pet options.”</p>
<p>“I figured that you would.” Bruce looks down at the cub in his arms again, all starry-eyed sweetness that makes it difficult for Jerome not to pin him to the floor and start something fun. “I was going to sleep down here tonight, just in case they wake up scared, or lonely. I want them to realize that this is their den, now, and that it’s safe.” He leans against Jerome’s side. “I want them to realize that I’m safe.”</p>
<p>“Got it.” Jerome presses a quick kiss into Bruce’s hair. “You stay here and pack-bond, or whatever it is that you’re doing, and I’ll start grabbing stuff to make us a truly epic pillow fort.”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to, I was just going to grab a blanket and pillow for myself.”</p>
<p>“Don’t have to, <i>ha</i>, as if I’d let you sleep on this hard-ass, solid-wood floor. You can barely settle down for the night in anything but your own bed unless I’ve fucked you hard enough that you go completely limp.”</p>
<p>“Jerome,” Bruce hisses, but he’s smiling. “Not in front of the cubs.”</p>
<p>“What? It’s not like I’m going to start anything in front of them.” Frankly when Jerome had heated thoughts and fantasies about exhibitionism it involved only <i>human</i> onlookers. He didn’t need a bunch of wild animals staring at them or, even worse, getting in the way. “Besides, they don’t know what I’m saying.”</p>
<p>“You’ll get me all riled up if you talk about fucking me, though, and there’s no way that’s happening tonight.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Well then.” Jerome leans into Bruce’s space to press a lingering kiss to his lips. “I’ll try not to turn you on too much using only my mouth.”</p>
<p>Bruce snorts. “Go make me a pillow fort, Jay.”</p>
<p>“Anything for you, darlin’.”</p>
<p>It doesn’t take too long to gather everything that he needs, as Wayne Manor has a seemingly endless amount of furniture that Jerome cannot believe was used with any kind of regularity. He takes cushions from lavish couches, and flannels from beds, and picks up pretty much every pillow that he comes across. He even ends up dragging a queen-sized mattress behind him, even though getting it over the baby-gate without knocking the thing over is a trial and a half. </p>
<p>He sets everything up on the floor, near Bruce, getting it all just right, and by the time he’s finished Bruce has set the hyena cub down with its siblings.</p>
<p>Jerome supposes that they’re cute. Not nearly as cute as Bruce, though.</p>
<p>Jerome sits on the edge of the mattress and opens his arms, and Bruce settles himself into them, pressing a grateful kiss to Jerome’s jaw before his attention turns away.  </p>
<p>“What do you think we should name them?” Bruce whispers, staring at the hyena cubs with a soft look that makes Jerome feel all funny on the inside.</p>
<p>So this is love, he thinks to himself before focusing on the question at hand. </p>
<p>“Spot. Dot.” He purses his lips in mock-contemplation before adding, “Thot.”</p>
<p>Bruce elbows him sharply in the ribs.</p>
<p>“Absolutely <i>not</i>. These are our children, Jerome, you need to take this seriously.”</p>
<p>“<i>Our children?</i>”</p>
<p>“Obviously. I’m your boy-wife,” Bruce says, tone bone-dry, because that designation had definitely slipped out of Jerome’s mouth on more than one special, sexy occasion and Bruce had obviously never forgotten about it. “That means you’re my hubby, and we have babies now, keep up.”</p>
<p>“Hubby?” Jerome snickers softly, but mostly he’s delighted by the title, and by the tasty little thoughts that come with it involving ripping apart white silk and lace, a pretty set of underthings, and hours of passionate honeymoon sex on every possible surface. “If you keep up that talk you’ll get <i>me</i> all riled up.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” Bruce’s attention swivels back to him, a smile pulling at his lips. “I’ll try not to turn you on too much using only my mouth.”</p>
<p>“Tease.”</p>
<p>“You love it.”</p>
<p>“I do,” Jerome admits, hands running through Bruce’s curls. “I really do.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>:)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bruce feels himself break into a smile—they keep getting wider and wilder, they keep happening more often with less time in between—and he practically skips to Jerome’s side, leaning toward him with an air of drama. They are in the middle of <i>a show</i>, after all. Or a crime. Same difference, really, when it came to Jerome’s particular type of spectacular intervention.</p>
<p>Jerome grins down at him, eyes flashing in a way that makes Bruce’s heart skip, and Bruce lifts up a hand between them.</p>
<p>Fist closed but for an extended pinky. Fingers and thumb curled into a circle. Pointer and middle fingers extended with the thumb reaching up between them. Hand curled into a loose fist with the thumb on the outside. Index and middle fingers crossed.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I am one of those, aren’t I?” Jerome asks rhetorically, and his hands reach out to cup Bruce’s white-painted face. “What d’ya say, darlin’, wanna blow this popsicle stand?”</p>
<p>Bruce surges up on his toes, planting a firm kiss on Jerome’s smiling mouth, before whirling back to face the lingering members of the terrified crowd who haven’t been able to hide themselves away. Gotham’s high society, the sort of people who Bruce feels very little guilt over terrorizing and undermining. Justice is sweet, but Bruce has found that vengeance could be even sweeter, and who in this room hadn’t ever done anything that deserved a little payback? None, surely. </p>
<p>He spins his red bat between his fingers as he raises it up over his head before bringing it down so hard that the bat itself splinters and begins to split, the painted wood cracking open to expose sharp fragments, like wooden teeth.</p>
<p>It’s almost fitting.</p>
<p>Break a bat. Break some ribs.</p>
<p>Jerome laughs behind him, loud and delighted, and Bruce feels so warm and light, so pleased to have done something to make him happy. He lifts it up over his head again and ignores the screaming crowd, focusing only on laughter as he brings the already splintering bat down a second time. </p>
<p>The show is a success. The getaway is a rush. The heated kissing afterwards makes Bruce’s heart sing and his insides turn molten. The way the kissing turns to something more is both expected and much desired, because Bruce can never get enough of Jerome, just like Jerome can never get enough of him.</p>
<p>And then, when they are left sweaty and panting, fingers still tangled in each other’s hair and lips still grazing together, it is time to go…</p>
<p>… Not ‘home’. Wayne Manor isn’t really home anymore and someday, no matter how careful Bruce is and how closely he guards his identity, someone is likely going to get too close or see too much and figure him out, and then everything that still links him to the identity as the Wayne heir will be snatched away from him. Still, it is a place that is safe. </p>
<p>More importantly it’s the place where Bruce’s <i>babies</i> are safe, because they’re still much too young and rambunctious to be kept in any of Jerome’s hideaways. In Wayne Manor they can race around and play-fight and chew and scratch whatever they want, and hunt down the little ‘treats’ that Bruce hides away for enrichment purposes when he knows that he’ll be gone for a few hours or more.</p>
<p>Bruce races through the doorway when they come towards it, nightfall shrouding his entrance and making him feel more secure about coming in through the front despite his coat hardly hiding the recognizable red and black and diamond patterns that he routinely wraps himself in to become The Harlequin, and he opens his arms and falls to his knees in the foyer. </p>
<p>“Mommy’s home,” he calls out loudly, casting a quick, sly glance back at Jerome to try and catch his expression before the thundering of multiple sets of feet turns his eyes forward. </p>
<p>They’re still a long way from being fully grown but the force of all three adolescent hyenas rushing against Bruce is enough to knock him onto his back even though he braces himself. </p>
<p>He laughs, light and joyous, hands reaching out to blindly pet at heads and scratch at ears.</p>
<p>“Aww, did you miss me?” Bruce coos at them softly. “I missed you, too.” They huff and whoop and nuzzle against him, one of them lets out a soft squeal, as if to welcome Bruce back after a long separation. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside, to have so much unconditional love directed towards him. </p>
<p>His little darlings, lovingly named after his favourite childhood heroes. Diego, after Don Diego de la Vega, perhaps better known as ‘Zorro’. Robin, after Robin Hood. Buffy, after Buffy Summers. All of them strong, all of them role-models at one point in his life or another. He might not be exactly on the same page as any of them anymore, but the sentiment still had meaning. </p>
<p>Eventually the hyenas do begin to settle, Diego even briefly strays from Bruce’s side to snuffle at Jerome’s hand and Jerome, always somewhat perplexed by their attention, idly pats his head after a few seconds of waiting to see whether or not the hyena will to turn right back around to go to Bruce. </p>
<p>“Are you gonna get up from the floor, or are you planning to be part of the cuddle puddle all night?” </p>
<p>“I’m up, I’m up,” Bruce says, rising to his feet, which prompts Diego to return back to his side. All three weave around his legs, eager for continued attention, and Bruce is so acclimatized to them being in his personal space when he returns after hours away that he can move without fear of tripping over them or stepping on them.</p>
<p>It is a good night to follow a sensational evening; reheated leftovers and soft kisses and many cuddles, Jerome watching him with a fond look and the hyenas eventually settling near him, Diego and Buffy on the floor, and Robin climbing up onto the couch and into his lap to be the closest, as per usual. There is something about it that feels idyllic. Dream-like. Too good to be true.</p>
<p>Too good to last forever, no matter how much they’d all want it to continue on just as it is.</p>
<p>Jerome’s fond look eventually shifts away and grows pensive, it’s a look that Bruce has come to recognize and associate with one particular crime that Jerome had seemed to take as a sign that things were beginning to change, pieces on the board were beginning to move, puzzle pieces were falling into place.</p>
<p>The murder of the old head of the Falcone family. </p>
<p>Even Bruce, who wasn’t particularly well-versed in mob mentality and dynamics, was sometimes sure that he could sense something going on just out of sight in the shadows. What, he couldn’t be sure of, but whatever it was leading up to it would be big, and it would change things for them even if Jerome and The Harlequin and The Maniax were a whole different kettle of fish when it came to kinds of crime. </p>
<p>“Bruce,” Jerome eventually starts after seemingly much deliberation. “I’ve been thinking about something recently.”</p>
<p>“I’ve noticed,” Bruce says in return, reaching out to slide his fingers into Buffy’s short mane. “Are you finally going to talk to me about it?”</p>
<p>Jerome’s lips quirk, as if bemused or touched by Bruce’s vigilance. </p>
<p>“I think so, but before I get to it I think I’ll have to tell you something else, first.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” Bruce shifts to sit up straighter, even though it causes Robin to huff in displeasure at being moved around. “What is it?”</p>
<p>Jerome slides closer to him, arm on the back of the couch, body angled towards him. There’s a look in his eye that Bruce doesn’t see very often. Almost nostalgic in nature; looking to the past even though the future was so much better and so much brighter. </p>
<p>“I’m going to tell you a story,” Jerome murmurs, reaching out to tuck away a lock of Bruce’s hair. “A story about two brothers.”</p>
<p>“Brothers?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Jerome says, a shadow flickering behind his eyes. “About a set of twins, even.” He pauses for a long moment, taking in a deep breath and sighing it out.</p>
<p>“About me, and my twin.”</p>
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